Tickle
by Nothing-but-PBandJ
Summary: Somewhat crackish. When Sherlock finds out how ticklish John is, the torturing begins. Slash/established relationship between Sherlock and John. Rated for being slightly suggestive but nothing explicit.


When their relationship had turned from strictly platonic to romantic/platonic, John Watson became the happiest man in the world. Having Sherlock for a lover was a bit trying sometimes but John was more than willing to take the good times with the bad. For the most part things stayed relatively the same between them, except now they went out on dates on occasion and snuggled next to each other on the couch while watching mindless television.

But something happen. Something so dreadful that John had trouble conjuring the image up in his mind without feeling sick to his stomach. Sherlock found out just how ticklish John was.

And it all went to hell after that.

It all started when Sherlock stroked John's neck too lightly, causing the doctor to chuckle to himself. The moment Sherlock heard it, it was on. He tickled and John couldn't contain his laughter. John tried to pry the hand away but Sherlock managed to keep his hand where he wanted it and tickled relentlessly. John begged him, cried uncle, did everything in the book but Sherlock still wouldn't stop! Eventually John started kicking and screaming and demanding his lover to stop. Sherlock kept it up, though, until John's face was beet-red and sweaty.

After John caught his breath, he made Sherlock promise not to do that again, which of course the taller man broke soon afterwards. John started becoming paranoid. Every time they were alone Sherlock would attack. And John would be powerless to try and stop him. The worst happened just the night before, when Sherlock snuck in his room while he was sleeping, and tied him up by the ends of the bed. He tied his feet to the other ends but not before taking off the light-haired man's socks. Oh, how John begged him for mercy. Sherlock smiled so wickedly, his eyes full of sadistic pleasure as his fingers strummed through John's bare feet. Before John could at least try to fight him but in this situation he couldn't even struggle. He screamed for Sherlock to stop, offered to do anything Sherlock asked if he would only _stop!_ But Sherlock didn't plan on letting John go so soon. In fact, this went on for at least half an hour before Mrs. Hudson came into the building, heard the noise and went up to investigate. It must've been very curious for her to hear things like screaming and 'no Sherlock, stop,' and 'I don't want this,' and 'untie me right now.'

The woman (God bless her) put an end to Sherlock's sick torture and John was free once again.

Now the two had just finished up a successful case and were home for a relaxing supper of Chinese take-out. John kept a watchful eye on his lover but Sherlock seemed embarrassed ever since they got home. He obviously wanted to say something, John would guess an apology for his crude behavior. Yet John wasn't sure he was safe just yet.

Sherlock left the room and came back with two cups of steaming hot tea. John was just about finished with his dinner when Sherlock decided to break the silence.

"Listen John. I am sorry for how I've been acting. You don't like me tickling you so I should stop. I brought you some tea."

Now John was suspicious. He eyed the cup warily as Sherlock set it down beside him.

"Thank you, Sherlock. But really you don't have to apologize. As long as this doesn't become a frequent thing with you, then I'm perfectly content."

Sherlock sipped his tea quietly. John could only hope that Sherlock doesn't notice him not drinking. Like Sherlock would ever not notice something.

"I'm glad you forgive me. I should at least tell you why. When I'm tickling you I feel like I'm the reason for all your laughter. It's strange really. I believe it can also be some sort of...control fetish of mine too. Having you helplessly struggling while I-"

"Yeah, about that. How in god's name are you stronger than me?" John demanded, "I'm the one who joined the army."

The detective cracked a smile.

"I've also done a bit of physical training myself over the years, John. When you want to solve crimes, you should be in the proper shape. But to get back on track, I feel like I have control over you when tickling. And the feeling is somewhat...intoxicating."

Well, John knew his lover was eccentric but this was truly a whole new level of weird.

"It's not poisoned, you know?"

Such a random statement that confused John until he realized that Sherlock was talking about his tea. Silently, Sherlock took John's cup and sipped it to prove his point. The soft slurping sound gave John a good hint that Sherlock didn't fake it. When Sherlock set his cup down, John lifted it, feeling safe now.

"Why do you feel like you have to control me?" John asked after taking a sip.

"It's not that I feel like I have to. It's just that I find it very stimulating. I rarely get excited in that regard so you can understand why I have trouble controlling myself. You do things to me that no one else can."

Whether it was a compliment or not, John blushed. A yawn escaped his mouth.

"Well. I guess I can understand that. So you really like tickling me?"

Sherlock nodded. John felt his eyelids getting heavier.

"Then maybe I can let you tickle me sometimes. If you let me indulge in a little fetish of mine sometimes too."

John was growing too tired to notice Sherlock's bewildered expression.

"What fetish John?"

But John fell fast asleep.

x

When the doctor woke up, he notice that a blanket had been graciously draped on top of him. John took a moment to look at his surroundings. The clock said 4:33. It was pitch black outside in the early, early morning. He saw Sherlock asleep on the couch. At least, he thought Sherlock was asleep until the taller man turned to face him.

"It seems you were more tired than you thought," said Sherlock.

John yawned once more. He threw off the blanket and walked over to Sherlock's lying figure.

"Why don't we go to a proper bed for the rest of the night?"

Sherlock sat up. His eyes were set in interest from his lover's suggestion.

"That fetish of yours. What was it?"

It took a moment for John to remember what Sherlock was talking about. He blushed.

"It's embarrassing."

"I told you mine."

There was no arguing with that. John's face grew red as a red bell pepper. He was so insecure that even though no one else was in the room, he leaned into Sherlock's ear and whispered the unholy secret. Sherlock blinked, then laughed.

"Really? I would never expect something like that from you, John."

**End**

* * *

><p>What was John's fetish? We will never know.<p> 


End file.
